


Release

by UbiquitousMixie



Category: The Closer
Genre: F/F, First Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-02
Updated: 2012-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-02 22:06:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UbiquitousMixie/pseuds/UbiquitousMixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brenda has done this before. Sharon has not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Release

The cold metal ridges of her keys dig uncomfortably into Sharon’s palm, the sharp bite reminding her that it’s time to go home. She should never have taken the keys out of the ignition in the first place, but Brenda’s mouth was descending upon hers and her fingers were tangling in her hair and Sharon had stopped thinking altogether when their tongues met. It was still a shock to her whenever they kissed like this, exchanging fluids and exploring each other with such intimacy. They’ve spent years using their mouths to antagonize and to instigate, cutting each other with scathing criticisms. She has not yet fully adjusted to the fact that they are using their mouths to soothe, to ignite fires of a whole different sort. They had been good at that, at getting under the other’s skin, but they are _great_ at this. 

Why did they take so long to get to this point? 

The keys rattle. Her hands are trembling. She is supposed to be going home, alone. She is supposed to have resolve, but now Brenda’s thumb is lingering against her collarbone. Sharon can tell that the woman wants to touch her breast. 

She wants to let her. 

Sharon drops her keys into the empty cup holder and covers the younger woman’s hand with her own. Her fingers are still shaking and yet she slowly guides Brenda’s hand down lower, encouraging her to touch her breast. Brenda whimpers into Sharon’s mouth, her fingers cupping her, her thumb immediately seeking out the hardened imprint of the nipple that presses against her dress. 

The older woman’s mind goes fuzzy, her back reflexively arching into Brenda’s hand. She pulls her mouth away to hiss in pleasure, her voice cracking when she says nothing more than, “ _Yes._ ” She brushes their mouths together and takes Brenda’s bottom lip between her teeth, tugging gently before sucking it into her mouth. She smoothes it with her tongue and Brenda whimpers again, and that’s when Sharon says it. 

“Invite me inside, Brenda Leigh.” 

Never has her own voice sounded so wanton, her lust so unbridled. Whatever Brenda had expected when she had leaned in to kiss Sharon goodnight, it hadn’t been this. She squeezes roughly, her palm gliding hard against the taut, pebbled flesh. “Oh God,” Brenda gasps, tilting her forehead against Sharon’s. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” 

They walk in relative silence to Brenda’s front door. Sharon doesn’t dare speak, afraid of what may pass her lips. Brenda clasps their hands together as if she’s afraid Sharon may change her mind and make a run for it. Sharon has no intention of running. She’s been running from this her entire life, denying herself what she has so fundamentally craved. She’s never been with a woman before. That it’s Brenda who will be _the one_ only makes her heart beat faster. 

She’s not running anymore. 

The house is dark when they enter and Brenda makes no move to turn on the lights. She sets her purse on the little table in the hall and turns to face Sharon, the glint of her eyes shimmering as she studies her face. Her breathing is heavy. To know that Brenda wants this just as badly makes Sharon’s knees weak. With a firmness that belies the nerves running rampant in her abdomen, Sharon pulls on their entwined hands until that long, sinewy body is pressed against her own. Brenda is all feminine curves, soft and pliant. She’s so beautiful that Sharon’s chest actually aches. 

She’s felt this before, the press of a woman’s warm body against her own, but never with the knowledge that she will be able to peel away the clothing until that uncovered femininity is hers to explore. A tremor of nervous excitement courses down her spine. This is happening. This is finally happening. 

Sharon feels incapable of deep thought. Instead, repetitious fragments scroll across her mind like a news ticker. This is happening. This is _finally_ happening. She’s never done this before. 

Brenda has. 

It is this knowledge that makes Sharon feel like she’s drowning. She does the only thing she can to save herself: she seeks out Brenda’s mouth and kisses her with an urgency that takes their breaths away. Brenda’s free hand cups her cheek, the gesture so intimate that it surprises her, making her falter just enough for Brenda to steady the pace of the kiss. The need is still there, but this—the way Brenda’s tongue licks the roof of her mouth and traces her teeth, the way her fingers grasp Sharon’s hand and tangle in her hair—Brenda’s already fucking her and they haven’t even made it to the bedroom. 

Sharon nudges their bodies further into the house, but it occurs to her that she doesn’t know where the bedroom is. Brenda pulls her mouth away with a pop and looks at her, really looks at her, and Sharon is just waiting for the other woman to laugh at her desperation. If Brenda laughs, Sharon will leave. She couldn’t bear it, not the superior smiles or the smug satisfaction or the pitying glances. 

But Brenda doesn’t laugh. She does nothing more than raise their entwined fingers to her mouth so that she may kiss her knuckles. Her breath is hot against Sharon’s hand and she shivers. 

Brenda leads her through the darkness of the bungalow to the bedroom. Sharon’s heart pounds so quickly when she sees the bed that she can’t hear anything else, can’t feel anything, but the roar of her pulse. 

This is happening. 

The blonde pulls her into the room, stopping before she reaches the bed. She lets go of Sharon’s hand and the captain panics, needing her touch to ground her. Brenda must know this because her hands are back on her body, touching her waist and her hips as she comes to stand behind her. The hands on her waist flatten, splaying out against her abdomen as she tugs the woman’s body back against her own. Sharon gasps at the feel of the other woman’s breasts against her back, at the way the curve of her ass molds perfectly to the crook of her pelvis. Brenda kisses the back of her head, softly, soothingly, and the captain sighs. She can feel the thump of Brenda’s heart. She covers Brenda’s hands with her own, tilting her head back in a gesture of surrender. 

Brenda has no idea what she is being given, but there’s no way that Sharon can convey in words just what this means to her, or how happy it makes her that Brenda is the one. She’s always been the one, in the end. That much is obvious to her now. But this? This is special. This could mean anything and nothing, but Sharon has been with herself for fifty-seven years and she knows, can feel it in her bones, that it already means everything. 

The blonde’s hands begin to move, tracing the flat of her stomach, caressing the dips of her hips, the contours of her ribcage, the swells of her breasts. Sharon’s mouth falls agape in wordless supplication, all sound swallowed by a fierce surge of desire. 

When Brenda’s hands cup her breasts, she remembers that this is not the first time Brenda has done this. There has been another—or others—who have been in this position, stood where Sharon is standing. Her gut churns and she shuts her eyes to the images that assault her, images of herself amongst countless others. 

This means everything to Sharon—but what if it means nothing to Brenda?

“Stop thinkin’,” Brenda whispers, her fingertips soothing circles around Sharon’s already painfully hard nipples. 

“Who was she?” Sharon hears herself ask, and she grimaces. She’s glad she can’t see the other woman’s face. 

Brenda, for her part, does not still her movements. “They don’t matter, Sharon. They were a long, long time ago…” A hand steals up to brush the curtain of Sharon’s dark hair over one shoulder, baring her neck to an array of slow, wet kisses. “You and I are the only ones who matter.” 

Sharon tilts her head, offering her throat while she arches her chest more fully into Brenda’s hands. 

Brenda gives her breasts a final caress before she seeks out the zipper of her dress. Slowly, ever so agonizingly slowly, she pulls the zip down, the sound of the parting teeth the only sound in the room. Sharon is certain that she has stopped breathing now.

Each little kiss that Brenda places on her spine as she parts the fabric of the dress weakens the strength in Sharon’s knees. When the zipper can descend no further, the blonde lets out a sigh, as if she cannot comprehend the revelation of Sharon’s body. With fingers that tremble, Brenda slips the straps off her shoulders, allowing the dress to slide down her arms and pool around her waist.

She feels her flesh erupting with goosebumps, though she knows it has little to do with the cool air of the room and everything to do with the way Brenda’s fingers effortlessly release the clasp of her bra. She closes her eyes when Brenda nudges the lacy black bra over her shoulders to flutter to the floor. And then Brenda’s hands are upon her again, lifting and cupping the swollen shape of her breasts between her fingers. Sharon moans, clenching so violently between her legs that her entire body sways.

Brenda has not even looked at her yet.

With a solitary pinch of her nipples, Brenda moves on, peppering her back with chaste kisses as she sinks to her knees, guiding the dress over her hips to pool at her feet. Brenda grabs her hips and steadies her while she kisses the small of her back.

Sharon cannot breathe, cannot speak. She can do nothing at all but submit to Brenda’s exploration of her body. When Brenda hooks her index fingers in the elastic of her simple lace panties, Sharon groans, the sound louder and more shocking than she intended. She squeezes her eyes more tightly closed, swaying as Brenda pulls the scrap of sodden fabric slowly down her legs. She helps her to step out of her heels, encouraging her bare feet to meet the floor, and then Sharon is completely naked. She has never felt more exposed. 

“Oh…” the deputy chief sighs, trailing her hands slowly up her legs, pausing to caress the globes of her ass. When she presses her mouth to one cheek and then the other, there is no temptation for Sharon to tease her about the act itself. There is nothing funny about this at all.

A pressure at her hips indicates to Sharon that Brenda wants her to turn around. She takes a steadying breath and then another before she allows herself to present the full extent of her nudity—her vulnerability--to the woman.

She could collapse at the sight of her there on her knees, staring at her with wet eyes and lips parted in reverent adoration. Brenda’s chocolate eyes are almost black as they meet hers, boring into her with an intensity that makes the captain quiver. Sharon gives a near imperceptible nod before Brenda takes this permission to sweep her gaze over her body. She studies the heaviness of her breasts, the shape and color of her nipples, the dip of her belly button and the faded cesarean scar, down to the brown thatch of hair covering her sex. Her face is scant inches away from this most intimate of places and Sharon is overcome by a burning, insistent urge to ask Brenda to kiss her where she needs it most.

“You are so…perfect,” Brenda confesses. “You’re perfect, Sharon Raydor.” This woman, an accomplished liar of impressive proportions, has uttered these words with such honesty that Sharon knows she will never forget the sound of it. The blonde leans in, kissing Sharon’s abdomen. She knows Brenda can smell her there, can pick up on the musky scent of her overwhelming arousal. She clamps her hands quickly over Brenda’s and takes an unsteady step back.

“I need—“ She licks her lips, her throat suddenly dry. “Please let me go first.”

She has never asked this of another human being before. It is always a demand. But in this moment, going first is not a matter of preference. It is a matter of _need_ , a way of ensuring that Sharon does not completely lose herself in the process. 

Brenda nods and Sharon can see the wonder in her eyes, the burning curiosity. But she doesn’t ask, and for that the captain is grateful. The younger woman rakes her nails along Sharon’s torso while she gets to her feet. She is not fully standing by the time Sharon is clinging to her, kissing her with a desperation that terrifies her. Brenda whimpers into her mouth, wrapping her arms around her naked waist while she allows herself to be maneuvered back toward the bed. 

Sharon cannot stop herself from tugging at the deputy chief’s dress, making quick work of the zipper before she hastily pulls the flimsy fabric over her head. She gazes down at the younger woman’s body, biting her lip as she takes in the sight of her age-defying body in pink lingerie. She is all milky pale skin, dotted with freckles that Sharon longs to taste. She wants to map every curve and dip of the woman’s body with her tongue. 

She flushes with embarrassment when she fumbles the clasp of Brenda’s bra, her irritation abated when Brenda grins at her, reaching behind to unhook it herself. She is surprised by how much she likes this—Brenda undressing for her and revealing herself to Sharon’s awaiting gaze. 

Sharon sits on the edge of the bed when her knees give way at the sight of the other’s woman’s breasts now bared before her. They’re perfect, round and firm, the light brown of her nipples crinkled and puckered into tiny hardened peaks that the older woman yearns to taste. She licks her lips and watches as the younger woman pushes down her underwear, revealing a tuft of glistening blonde curls. 

Her breath quickens. It’s really happening. Brenda is wet and aroused because of her and they are finally, _finally_ doing something about it. 

“Lay down, Sharon,” Brenda says quietly, nodding to the expanse of mattress behind her. The captain immediately obeys, scooting backward while the woman crawls onto the bed and over her body until they are pressed flush together. 

“Oh god,” Sharon moans. Brenda’s breasts are brushing against hers and she looks down at their joined bodies, stunned by the breathtaking image they present. It isn’t until Brenda moves against her, their bellies sliding as her hands begin to roam over her hip, that Sharon realizes she’s been staring. 

She flips them wordlessly, smirking at the surprise on Brenda’s face when her back hits the mattress. She kisses her again, cupping her cheek. When she sucks Brenda’s lower lip between her teeth, she moves her hand to trace the long column of her throat. When she trails faint kisses along the length of her jaw, her fingertips tickle the curve of her collarbone. As her tongue laps at the throb of Brenda’s pulse, her hands stroke lower to stroke her breasts. 

They moan together. The scratch of the other woman’s nipples against her palms is so heady, so erotic, that she unintentionally bites the vulnerable flesh of her throat. Brenda surges up against her, letting forth a keening noise that drives Sharon to bite her again while her fingers pinch and pluck her nipples. 

“Oh Sharon…” Brenda moans, breathless and needy. She clutches at the captain’s back, her legs falling limply apart as she arches into her touch. 

Sharon cannot stop herself. She wants to enjoy this, to take her time and savor every inch of Brenda’s body, but decades of yearning has made her resolve paper thin. She lowers her head, capturing one dusky nipple in her mouth while her hand reaches down to thread through damp curls. 

Brenda howls in pleasure, clutching at Sharon’s hair.

Sharon has never felt this powerful, has never felt so completely in tune with herself as she does right now, with Brenda Leigh’s wetness soaking her palm and her nipple between her teeth. She begins to suck, nipping gently before smoothing it with her tongue. She tastes of salt, of sweat, and Sharon cannot get enough. 

She experimentally shifts her hand, stricken with a sudden panic of not knowing what to do. She’s touched herself like this for almost all of her life but now, practicing those motions on someone else, Sharon feels lost.

Brenda finds her, as she always has. “Yes,” she whimpers, rocking her hips up against her. “Just like that.” 

_Like what?_ Sharon wants to know. She’s barely touching her; she hasn’t even slipped between the glistening, puffy folds, and then without comprehension she is doing just that. Brenda’s sex is like a furnace, setting her on fire and melting whatever ice remains within her veins. Now that she’s here, commanding Brenda’s body as if it belongs to her, she never wants to leave. 

Perhaps she never will. 

She moves her fingers, seeking out the hardened nub in unfamiliar terrain. She knows as soon as she finds it; Brenda tugs on her hair, tilting her head back into the pillow while she moans again, louder and lower than before. It’s intoxicating, this power, this command of a woman’s body. She devoted forty years of her life to pleasure that was never this intense or this _right_. Any hesitation that she had before is gone. There will be no turning back from this, and Sharon Raydor is more than willing to leave her ill-fitting heterosexuality behind her. 

“Please, Sharon…” Brenda begs, and Sharon feels a gush of arousal at the sound of it. She begins to rub, pressing so lightly that the younger woman chases her fingers with her hips. Her legs are bowed widely now, her entire body open to Sharon’s complete mercy.

Sharon wants to be good at this. She _needs_ to be good at this. Forgetting her own desire, she releases Brenda’s nipple with a wet ‘pop’ and moves to the other breast, lavishing it with the same attention. She presses a little harder with her hand, stroking Brenda’s clitoris with a firmness that makes the other woman gasp her name. 

“More, Sharon, please… _ooh_ …I need…” 

Sharon does not wait to find out what Brenda needs; her fingers glide effortlessly against her, seeking out the tight little band of muscle before slipping inside of her. She has to close her eyes at this, her own pulse pounding wildly as she feels the younger woman’s muscles clamp around her finger. 

She pulls out and slides another in, sucking a little harder. She can’t breathe, not like this, not when she’s fucking a woman—fucking _Brenda_ \--and feeling as though she is the one receiving all of the pleasure. It’s almost too much for her but she has never let that stop her from anything. She thrusts her fingers in, stroking them upward to feel the spongy texture of her inner body. Brenda dips to meet each movement, swiveling her hips to create a perfect counter rhythm. It should surprise her how easy this is but she knew, she has always known, that it would be like this with the deputy chief. They’ve been dancing this dance with words and with looks for years. They’ve already perfected it.

Brenda cups Sharon’s face in her hands, pulling her up so that their mouths are meeting in a frenzied joining of lips and tongues. The younger woman readjusts her body so that Sharon is now between her thighs and uses the new position to wrap her legs around her hips, drawing Sharon closer. Her hand is trapped between their bodies but now Sharon can use the force of her own pelvis to drive her fingers harder inside of the other woman. It’s rougher than she planned on being but, to her complete lack of surprise, they both love it. 

“Fuck…” Brenda moans, biting Sharon’s lip before she wraps her arms around her back, digging her short nails into her shoulders. “Oh my g—ooh— _Sharon_!” 

Brenda’s orgasm takes Sharon by surprise. The woman’s walls lock around her fingers for a brief, agonizing moment before she shudders and spasms and screams her name until her voice is raw in her throat. Sharon strokes her through it, her own body emitting a violent throb at the knowledge that she was responsible for Brenda’s undoing. She doesn’t want to stop; she wants to stay here, locked in this pleasure until neither of them can move. 

When the blonde allows Sharon to retract her fingers, she laughs breathlessly, soothing her fingers against the scratches on her back. “Remind me to never complain ever again if you insist on goin’ first…” 

The joke, silly and lame as it is, is enough for Sharon to release the painfully tense knot in her chest. She chuckles along with her, cupping her cheek with wet fingers to pull her in for a slow, sweet kiss. 

“I almost don’t believe you, you know,” Brenda whispers, pushing Sharon’s hair out of her face. She shifts their bodies once more, easing Sharon onto her back. She drives their hips together, smirking when Sharon gasps. “You sure you’ve never done this before?” 

Sharon raises an eyebrow but stops caring altogether when Brenda licks her throat. She plants her hands into the mattress and lifts herself up until she is straddling her, looking down at her between a curtain of riotous blonde curls. 

“So beautiful…” Sharon whispers, looking up at her. She’s lightheaded. Were it not for Brenda’s weight on her body, she believes she may have simply floated away. 

Brenda bites her lip, innocently shy for a woman who is completely naked and slick with perspiration. She covers Sharon's breasts, brushing her thumbs in circles. She massages her breasts, kneading the soft mounds until Sharon is panting. The full brunt of her arousal hits her then and she moans.

Her eyelids flutter and she forces them open, not wanting to miss the sight of those plump lips latching to the side of her breast. But she can't keep her eyes open for long, not when a startling burst of white hot pleasure wracks her body when the woman's tongue is snaking around one puckered peak.

Too much is happening all at once--Brenda is suckling her flesh and moving between her legs and pushing apart Sharon's thighs until she is spread wide open. And then she is kissing her way down Sharon's stomach and she loses track of it all. She's trembling, hard, and Brenda grasps her hand. Sharon holds her breath. She can't move. She can't think. She can do nothing but wait and she does for one endless, infinite moment before Brenda kisses her at the juncture of her thighs.

This is not the first time that someone has gone down on her, but the moment Brenda’s tongue laps against her clit, she rears up like she’s never been touched before. Her fingers clutch Brenda’s in a vise-like grip while her free hand twists at the sheets. 

She’s seeing stars. Brenda’s pillowy lips cushion that sensitized hardness between her legs and suck gently, so gently that Sharon is making sounds she’s never heard before. The other woman’s hand is soothing along her thigh, grounding her and reminding her that she is all right, that she is being taken care of. Sharon nods though Brenda cannot see her. She trusts her. She wants her. She needs her. 

She tenses her thighs, wanting to hold on, to make it last. She doesn’t think she can endure the embarrassment of coming so soon, not when she’s been waiting for this for so long. It’s a wonder she lasted this long at all. She focuses on Brenda’s hands. She focuses on every loving stroke of her tongue. 

Something happens to her then, something so much more than a climax; this release is so much more important than that. She’d always likened her orgasms to being shattered apart by pleasure. This time, every spasm and throb and clench in her body puts her back together. 

She’s whole. 

Sharon doesn’t know if she comes once or twice or if she will ever _stop_ coming. All she knows is that there are two fat, hot tears that roll down her cheeks. She will not give in to the great, wracking sobs that threaten to overtake her. There is no need for that, not anymore.

She cried when she was fifteen and touched herself for the first time to thoughts of her female English teacher. She cried when she made love to her husband on her wedding night and thought of her best female friend. She cried when she first fell in love with a woman and again when she had her heart broken. She will not cry now, not when her body is coming back to itself and Brenda is placing soft kisses against her trembling, exhausted thighs. 

This time, she’s not ashamed. She’s not keeping a secret. She’s not broken anymore. 

Brenda comes to rest beside her, slinging an arm across her waist. She smiles and nuzzles her nose against her sweat dampened hair. “Will you stay?” Brenda asks quietly.

Sharon looks out into the darkness of the bedroom, her heart’s thunderous cadence beginning to slow. She can feel Brenda’s heart beating where she rests against her shoulder. She can hear the trepidation, and the hope, in the other woman’s voice. 

Sharon turns to look at her, running the pad of her thumb against Brenda’s lips. She went fifty-seven years without this and has no intention of ever living without it. “Yes, Brenda Leigh. I’ll stay.” 

She has a lot of catching up to do. 

\---


End file.
